


Eye Of The Storm

by Savageandwise



Series: Drabbles: We Will Never Be Here Again [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst, Chaos, Drabble, Key West, M/M, McLennon, Work of fiction, not my take on reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: What about the night we cried?Because there wasn't any reasonLeft to keep it all inside





	Eye Of The Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaneScarlett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneScarlett/gifts).



> Written for a series of weekly drabbles.  
> This week's was chaos. Which made me think of Key West.  
> The rules were 300 words.  
> Let me know if i should keep doing them. They're good practice.

There’s a storm outside. They call her Dora. Strange thing to give a hurricane a name. She calls to them like the crowd in a stadium might, screaming their names over and over. She's a savage, a beast who wants to swallow them whole. Swallow them whole and grind their bones like a monster in a fairy tale.

They're safe here though. Trapped like rats in the motel, listening to her beat out a furious rhythm against the windows, watching her lay waste to palm trees, kicking up the sand, stirring the sea into a frenzy. They drink until they cry, cry until their hands slide all over each other. George over John, John over Ringo, Ringo over Paul and back again, like they are reading each other in Braille. Until John and Paul find each other blindly, their mouths sliding together instinctively. 

They never notice George and Ringo leave. They find them later, asleep, curled together like pups in Ringo’s bed. They're blind and deaf now, John and Paul. There is no room for anyone else in their small world. There's the sound of their hearts beating, blood running in each other's veins. There is the sound of their breaths, like the shivering of cymbals. They make music wherever they go.

There used to be a line they wouldn't cross no matter how drunk they got, no matter how much they wanted to. There used to be a map to help them navigate the chaos. When did they toss it out with all their good intentions like so much flotsam and jetsam? They're lost at sea, there's a storm inside them to rival Dora. The boundaries of their frail human bodies can't contain it. They spill over into each other, filling spaces that never made much sense until now.


End file.
